


then you walked in (my heart went boom)

by sweetsinnerchild



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, M/M, fuck it, someone help me write summaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetsinnerchild/pseuds/sweetsinnerchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans is fine with being in the shadows of Papyrus' court - but a new arrival upends his life.</p>
<p>or: self-indulgent GoT AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	then you walked in (my heart went boom)

**Author's Note:**

> so this is inspired by [eunoriablithe's](http://eunoriablithe.tumblr.com) game of thrones au, because heck yeah medieval au! and also court intrigue
> 
> a brief note that i bent over backwards trying to think of house names for these bastards, so the underfell lot will be house erfell and the underswaps house pseuva (pronounced su-wa, do you see how hard i tried)
> 
> disclaimer: i have not watched game of thrones
> 
> extra disclaimer: i do not know how to drabble
> 
> extra extra disclaimer: i am hamilton trash

See, he has always been a political wallflower of sorts.

Everyone knew that his brother was the one who was eventually going to inherit the throne. Never mind that he was the elder and should have the succession by right - by the time Gaster was on his deathbed, the people were already looking to Papyrus for orders. Papyrus had ascended the throne only a mere week later, and Gaster died quietly, silently, eclipsed in the shadow of his own son. 

And Sans was fine with it, is fine with it, really. He read of the wars over a throne, both literal and political, seen how they rend families and friends apart. He didn’t want the throne if it meant fighting his own brother, and some might call him a fool or even weak for it - but Sans is happy letting Papyrus rule. He has always doted on his little brother, ever since he had shown more affection to Sans than Gaster ever would. 

Besides, he’s seen what happens to Papyrus’ enemies. He doesn’t delude himself that he won’t go the same way if Papyrus ever decided to doubt his loyalties.

People try, of course. Cozy up to him, because he’s the brother of the king, and _can’t you put in a word to the king? Surely he’ll listen to you, he sees how much you love him…_

Sans passes it on, of course, along with their motives. He’s been in court long enough to know to not reject people to their faces, and reading the situation has always been something he vaguely excels at.

So people try to use him, and he lets himself be used - as long as he can keep on proving to Papyrus that he’s useful, that he’s worth keeping around. As long as Papyrus is in power, Sans is safe.

As long as Papyrus is happy, Sans is safe. 

* * *

They’re at a tourney, held in a recently coronated Papyrus’ honor, when Sans first meets him. 

They’re sitting in their pavilion, Papyrus in the centre and Sans shoved slightly to the side, watching the proceedings. So far around fifteen aspiring knights have asked Papyrus for his favor, and Papyrus has either granted or ignored them according to their political leverage. None of them ever looks at Sans, so he slouches down into his entirely-too-stiff seat and looks out at the field, where a sea of shiny helmets, barely worn, glints back at him. 

It is in this sea that Sans sees the only person on a horse without a helmet adorning his head. Instead, he has a hood of orange - his house’s colors, perhaps - and otherwise looks rather shabby.

Or experienced, Sans considers. The clothes did not look to be that of a pauper’s - in fact, it looks more well-worn. Which house would he be from, anyway? Sans doesn’t recall any local families with that particular shade of orange.

He idly watches as the hood moves around the field, tending to his horse and joining the procession of knights. Besides him, Papyrus calls for a refill of his wine; a servant scrambles to fulfill his request.

God, this is exhausting. He just wants to be back in his room, sleeping in.

Another knight for Papyrus’ favor, another knight ignored. These knights clearly didn’t know how the courts worked. Sans closes his eyes, maybe he could take a quick nap and no one would know any better…

Or he could risk Papyrus’ wrath.

He keeps his eyes open.

“Ser Papyrus of House Pseuva!" 

A murmur ripples through the pavilions. The Pseuvas is the reigning family from the South, but otherwise keeps their presence muted in the centre of the kingdom. A knight from the house could mean the family’s move towards a stronger political presence, especially with a new king in power. Sans lets himself look at this newcomer, and finds himself less than surprised at the name’s owner - the very hooded knight he had been observing only minutes ago. No wonder he didn’t find him familiar, Sans thinks absently. 

The hooded knight draws his orange hood down as his horse stops before their pavilion, as he bows before Papyrus. His resemblance to Sans’ own brother could be uncanny, save for the lack of a scar over his left eye, and the easy-going smile that looks out of place on his brother’s face but seems natural to the knight. 

Sans waits for him to ask for the king’s favor, as he surely will - but his eyes shift to Sans, and - 

"I would like to ask His Highness to bestow his favor upon me,” the knight says. 

His Highness, not His Majesty. 

_What._

Papyrus - his own Papyrus, opens his mouth, before realizing that the knight wasn’t asking for the king’s favor, but his brother’s. Sans himself is stunned, but his mind is racing - the Pseuvas may be trying to go the indirect way, to gain his favor instead of being the many to try for Papyrus’. 

If only they knew how effective that tactic actually is, he thinks, hysterically amused. 

The knight is smiling at him, gentle and expectant. Sans stands up, and walks towards the railing, towards the knight. He feels his brother’s eyes on his back, and hopes he will not mess this up. The knight’s house is not one they should spurn at the moment, unless Papyrus wants to gain an enemy in the south. Sans does not gain his brother enemies. 

“You share my brother’s name,” Sans begins. His hands are shaking - he has never done well in public matters, not when Papyrus is there to control it all. “How could I not favor someone so close to me?" 

Calm, he thinks fervently to himself. Calm down. He didn’t have anything to give this knight, as per tradition - only the king had the honor of bestowing favors with mere words - but maybe it could be extended to his house….?

"The House of Erfell gladly bestows its favour upon you,” Sans finally says, and there’s warmth creeping up his cheeks because no one has looked at him before, not with Papyrus to appeal to, and not with such gentle eyes. 

“Thank you, my prince,” Ser Papyrus says, before riding off to make a round around the field. Sans quickly stumbles back to his seat.

_Did I do well, Papyrus_ , he thinks at his brother. _Was that what you wanted?_

Papyrus doesn’t look at him, his eyes trained on the next knight to bow before him, but Sans didn’t expect him to anyway.

The matches begin. Sans watches, and dozes off when it’s particularly droll - but whenever Ser Papyrus comes onto the field, he is always awake. He clearly has done his research, to know Sans’ name - and between rounds he has been approaching the other houses, greeting them genially - but if he has done so he should know that Sans is a political dead-end. There has never been a time when Papyrus listened to Sans’ requests, unless it was in line with his own wishes.

So why approach Sans? Why approach him over his brother?

The matches go on, and Sans is no closer to puzzling out Ser Papyrus’ motives. It’s frustrating, so Sans watches instead the way he evades the lances of his opponents, the way he tenses before springing his own lance, the way his body twists…

He’s enthralling on the field. Besides, Sans gave him his favor - so maybe he should be rooting for this foreign knight.

It comes down to a final match. In one corner, one of Papyrus’ own favored knights stands; and in the other is Ser Papyrus. The knight is in the running to be the head of the royal guards, if Sans remembers correctly.

He remembers more absolutely that the knight is also an ass.

But ass he might be, the knight is talented enough to get so far. Coupled with his pride on the line, he isn’t likely to go down without a fight. 

So Sans watches the match with bated breath as Ser Papyrus evades, his grip on the lance tense and sure. His fingers dig into the arms of his chair when he narrowly misses getting thrown off his horse, when the other knight tries to strike at his ribs - but Ser Papyrus prevails until finally, finally - 

The knight slips up.

Ser Papyrus goes in for the kill. The knight lands on the ground, winded and curled around his ribs. 

“Ser Papyrus is the victor,” the announcer shouts. 

Thunderous applause fills the the grounds. Sans sits back in his chair, inexplicably relieved and trying not to be. Why is he so invested in this knight he has barely talked to, who is most certainly politically motivated in all his interactions? It’s ridiculous - Sans is ridiculous, swooning over a knight who just happened to pay attention to him. 

At any rate, this victory means that Ser Papyrus would get to attend the evening celebrations later tonight, as the victor is entitled to. Sans has no doubt he will be seeing him. He wonders how long he will be staying, whether he is merely securing an alliance between their houses - but if his stay is extensive, then maybe it would be more politically beneficial to place him as the Head of the Royal Guards. After all, he did thoroughly trounce the candidates in combat. 

(Maybe, a small part of Sans hopes that he will stay.)

The scrape of a heavy chair alerts him to the present as his Papyrus stands up, clapping slow and measured. Ser Papyrus helps his bested opponent up, before walking towards their pavilion, leading his horse by hand. He comes to a stop before them; Sans schools his face into something neutral. 

“That was an impressive match,” Papyrus says. 

“But of course,” Ser Papyrus replies. “Those of my name can only be capable of impressive feats.” 

As stoic as his brother sometimes is, Sans _knows_ when Papyrus is flattered. 

“I expected no less,” Papyrus agrees imperiously. He waves his hand, and a servant approaches with the bag of a thousand gold coins. “Your reward.“ 

“Thank you, your majesty.” The knight bows, again. “Unfortunately, I have yet to acquire lodgings as I have arrived only today. I must ask that my reward be given to me later." 

“Is that so?” Papyrus pretends to consider. Sans is grudgingly impressed - there is no way Papyrus can not invite him to lodge at the castle when he knows of the knight’s plight, not if he wants to offend the Pseuvas. Behind Ser Papyrus’ warm exterior seems to be a sharp mind. 

“You shall stay with us, then,” Papyrus declares. “Have the servants bring your belongings to the castle." 

“Your majesty is too kind,” the knight says, clasping a hand to the front of his chest, and Sans hopes that that will be the end of it, that the knight will turn away, satisfied. Instead, he turns to Sans, grin turning gentle and wide. 

“Thank you for your favor, Your Highness,” he says, and his smile is like the sun in spring, warm and bright. “I hope that we will meet later tonight.” He reaches into his saddle’s bag and -

Oh. Oh. Sans feels his neutral countenance shatter, because a flower. That was a flower. His assessment of Ser Papyrus falls apart, because there was no point in giving _Sans_ a flower, what even -

“For you, Your Highness,” the knight says - and was that a wink?

His entire face must be red by now, oh god.

“Thank you, Ser Papyrus,” Sans says, his voice barely level. He takes the flower from him, holding it as if it was made of glass. It’s a lovely flower, small and freshly cut. What did they usually say in this situation? I will treasure this - no, it makes him sound like a blushing maiden. 

“I, I appreciate this gift,” Sans finally says.

“Then I am glad.” Ser Papyrus inclines his head before finally taking his leave, allowing Sans to stumble back into his seat, the flower still in his hands. The petals are soft and velvet; the scent fragrant and subtle. 

It’s not a rose, conventionally beautiful - but it is his, and somehow that’s important.

“Ser Papyrus,” Sans whispers to himself, and maybe, just maybe, allows himself a small smile.

**Author's Note:**

> [psst! too little chapters?](http://sweetsinnerchild.tumblr.com)


End file.
